


sic

by tanyart



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One out of several of the same sober mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anirondack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anirondack/gifts).



In between the dreaming and drugs, Joseph Kavinsky must have slept once—maybe even twice. The few times he didn’t wake up on the floor or in his Mitsubishi, he was in his actual bed, acutely aware of his too-cluttered room, the wear and tear of his body, and the sound of his mother puking in one of the downstairs bathrooms.  His head would be too clear, his vision too sharp. Everything ached in an obnoxious way that was too real for his liking. 

But there were worst things to wake up to than a hangover.  Sometimes, when everything he put into his system had worn off or been flushed down the toilet, he woke up and Ronan was there beside him. 

This was one of those times.  He was entirely too fucking sober for this.

Normally, Joseph would pop a pill, shut his eyes and dream up something that would get rid of Ronan, but _this_ time— _this fucking time_ —he was out of pills.  Or they were back in his car.  Whatever.  The point was he was out of pills and Ronan was in his bed, pulling him up by the arm.  Joseph couldn’t do a thing.

“Hey, asshole,” Ronan said, voice so low and raspy it made Joseph’s decaying heart stutter.

“The _fuck_ ,” Joseph said, and doubted for a moment, right until Ronan leaned in and kissed him, sweet and earnest.

It was too slow, like time stopped while the entire world was on fire, and Joseph recoiled so bad he almost fell off the bed.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” he said, pushing Ronan away.  He turned to the side, raking his hand through his hair, and jumped again when he felt Ronan’s hands on his back in a gesture that was too kind and too gentle.  He scrambled out of the bed, yanking his bedside drawers open.  “Get the _fuck_ away from me.”

He was livid, not because he had unconsciously dreamed Ronan, but because he had dreamt up a faulty Ronan.  Again.

As if the real Ronan would kiss him like it was anything but vicious and angry.

“Kavinsky,” the dream-Ronan began, and it kept on talking, meaningless words Joseph didn’t bother to hear.

The drawers were filled with bottles of pills.  Not the _right_ ones, because Joseph’s life was shitty when it came down to it, but he swallowed down two anyway, powdery coating sticking to his throat.  He coughed, tried another swallow, and clawed his hand deeper into the drawer, searching.

From across the room, the fake Ronan scowled.  His black shirt was rumpled, jeans slung low on his hips.  There was stubble along his jaw and Joseph hated that he could still remember the feel of it against his cheek.

“K,” it said again, putting its hands up in a placating way that the real Ronan would never do.  “Joseph-“

“Shut up,” Joseph snarled, growing more livid.  Wrong, it was all wrong.  He could dream up a hundred white Mitsubishis, all identical—but he couldn’t do Ronan.  Could never get Ronan the way he wanted.

He got Prokopenko right.  Even his sorry excuse for a father—and back then Kavinsky hadn’t even _cared_.

“Fuck you, Kavinsky,” it snapped, drawing up.  “You’re the one who brought me _here_.”

Joseph’s hands were starting to shake.  His fingers brushed against metal and he nearly sighed in relief.  There.  He pulled the gun from the drawer, the weight familiar in his hand.  It was a dream object, silent and sleek and never ran out.  It was already responsible for the deaths of many dreams.

“And I can put you back too,” Joseph said.

The dream-Ronan scoffed, disgusted expression almost perfect, except for when it took the few steps it needed to get into Joseph’s space, warm hands over Joseph’s numb fingers.  It bent its head, letting the muzzle of the gun rest against its temple.

“Then do it,” dream-Ronan dared, gaze unwavering, and Joseph realized he got the eyes right, at least.

He hesitated too long.  His breathing was uneven and the blood was pounding in his ears, and that was before dream-Ronan grinned his sharp, venomous grin and kissed Joseph again.

Still too slow, still too sweet.  It kissed him as if it cared, did things like tilt Joseph’s head back and put its hand to Joseph’s face to press its mouth to his neck.  It felt too good to be Ronan, no bite at all so Joseph yanked the fake back up and bared his teeth against its jaw.  He crushed their mouths together and bit its lower lip until he could taste copper.

“Like this, you piece of shit,” Joseph growled, and he heard Ronan’s mocking laugh.

“How would you know?” it said, licking the blood from his mouth.  “You’ve never kissed him for real.”

Another mistake.  Joseph’s grip on the gun tightened.  He could, any time.  _After._

“I’m not interested in kissing,” Joseph said, shoving Ronan over the bed.  He let go of the gun, letting it fall harmlessly over the covers.  He doubted the dream Ronan would try anything, and even if it did, the gun wouldn’t work for anyone but him.

The dream clone settled on the bed, looking as if he belonged there, wild and malicious. Joseph burned, emotions tangling.  He hooked a finger under the seam of Ronan’s jeans.

“You move, and I’ll bite it off,” he said as a small helpless laugh wormed it way out from his mouth.  God, the room was too bright for this.  He wished he had his shades. 

Ronan lifted his hips, and if disobedience was a trait Joseph had put in this dream creature, it had it in spades.  “Go ahead, you’re the one who wants it.”

Joseph didn’t bother to reply. He knelt down between Ronan’s legs, pressing his hand against his hip.  The muscle under his palm shifted, denim brushing past his hand, and his breath hitched.  He was already aching, and Joseph couldn’t even guess for how long.  Ronan’s leg nudged him impatiently, hard enough to make a point, and Joseph bent his head, dizzy from how much he _wanted_.

Ronan’s hand went to the back of Joseph’s head.  He didn’t make a sound, but the nails raking through Joseph’s scalp was enough of a reaction.  Joseph laughed and tugged the boxers further down, finally pressing his mouth to Ronan’s cock.

He was, to his disgust, paying more attention to Ronan that he should have.  There was liking the image of Ronan being wrecked on his bed, clothes half off and panting, but then there was playing the role to get to it.  It was too easy.   Joseph eased his mouth over Ronan, wet and sloppy, and Ronan pulled his hair until it hurt.  It was hard to say who made the most noise but, shit, Ronan’s leg was rubbing Joseph’s cock, rough beneath his jeans, and it almost felt like everything Joseph wanted.  He gripped Ronan’s hips, barely getting enough air.  He was hot all over, shaking, and maybe it was Ronan, or maybe it was those pills he took eariler.

A part of Joseph hoped he choked, but Ronan only moaned and fucked his mouth harder, steady and predictable. Joseph opened his eyes, jaw getting that familiar ache.  He took Ronan in deeper, not breathing for the few seconds he felt Ronan shudder into his mouth. 

When it was over, Joseph sat up, spitting into his palm.  He glanced at Ronan, waiting for that cruel grin, but Ronan looked at Kavinsky as if he was a god.

“Shit,” Ronan breathed, closing his eyes in some post-orgasm high.  He didn’t even notice Joseph grabbing the gun and pointing it to his forehead. 

A hundred Mitisbushis and a hundred more bodies.  

Joseph pulled the trigger twice, only because he missed the first time.  His vision was spinning.  He flopped back down on the bed, watching dreamily as Ronan’s body faded away.

 

* * *

 

Joseph woke up, sober again.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him until he opened his eyes.

“Hey, asshole."


End file.
